


(Almost) All Men Considered

by Meiilan



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Light Bondage, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-26 07:16:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6228883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meiilan/pseuds/Meiilan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian has joined the Inquisition and hardly finds a moment for himself, ever since. But when he does, he likes to fantasize about all the handsome men, he got to meet, ever since coming down south.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Almost) All Men Considered

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfiction is completely self-indulgent. I simply got tired of the fandom’s (not all of it, of course) attitude, that if you like one pairing, you can’t like the other and why some pairings are bad/problematic and you’re bad for liking them, yadda yadda, a-bloo-bloo, etc. So, I decided I write a short piece that involves all the ships I currently enjoy with Dorian involved. So if anyone, wants to come at me right now for having involved this, or that pairing, that they don’t like: Kindly stuff it, where the sun doesn’t shine! 83 I really don’t care anymore, at this point. I like all of these pairings and I won’t stop liking them, just because someone tells me, why they don’t like it. -shrugs-
> 
> Anyways. To all my fellow multishippers: Read and enjoy! 8D Kudos are neat, Comments are awesome! You can bet, I’ll read them and will make happy, little goblin-noises, while doing it. 8D

Getting  a moment for yourself was a rare thing in the Inquisition. There was always someone who required your attention Something that needed to be done right away and on the various outdoor mission that Dorian dreaded so much; he was forced to share the tent with the rest of their group. It wasn’t that he did not appreciate the company and attention, but every now and then he had certain urges that he’d rather take care of in the privacy of his own room - given, of course, that he managed to make it there. The altus had stopped counting the nights, that he’d fallen asleep in the library, exhausted from the recent mission, or simply tired after hours of dusty research. Some kind soul provided him with a blanket, everytime. He had yet to figure out who, for he usully fell asleep without and woke up wrapped up snugly.

Anyway. Getting a quiet moment just for himself had become a special treat for the mage. On the few evenings where he could retire to his room early, knowing he would not be bothered again until the next morning, he had figured out his very own rite of self-care. First came a long and relaxing bath in the fortress’ bathhouse. He usually had the whole bathing room to himself, this early in the evening. A long, intense discussion with Josephine had assured, that he would find scented soaps and oils at his disposal. They were not exactly the level of luxury that he was used from Minrathous, but it was still better than the bland soap that was common in the bathhouse. The Inquisitor had once noted, that Dorian began to smell familiar. Which gave the mage reason to believe that Lady Montilyet had used the Inquisition’s good relation to some Dalish-clans to aquire the herbal scented soaps. He had yet to figure out a way to ask her about it, without getting an artfully evasive answer.

Once he was properly bathed, oiled and groomed, he dressed for the night in a soft nightgown and slacks - sadly not of expensive silk, but at least of a very soft, pristine white linen, with beautifully intricate embroidery - a gift of welcome by courtesy of the Inquisitor. A simple spell and some wood logs enlightened a cozy fire in Dorian’s private chamber and a few glasses of wine made for a delicous night cap. After locking the door and cuddling under a voluminous heap of blankets, Dorian’s thoughts and hands began to wander.

One of the best stress-relieves was and has always been a good wank, as they say. Being the intellectual person he was, Dorian needed some mental stimulus of course, to get into the right mood. He had made it a habit to fantasize about the various attractive men he had met here in the Inquisition. There was nothing wrong with that, after all. As long as he kept his fantasies to himself, he wasn’t bothering anyone.

As his hands carressed his chest, fingers idly playing with pert nips, his thoughts went to Solas. The elf might not have the best taste in fashion, but he was a brilliant mind and Dorian always found himself intrigued by the views and theories this man could share. There had always been a certain attraction to the elf, as well. Solas was a walking mysterium. Not only was he purposefully vague about each and any personal information, but his behavior was often showing subtle contradictions. For the humble scholar he claimed to be, he was a surprisingly vicious fighter on the battlefield. When he and Dorian were exchanging playful banter, he often seemed oddly alert, as if he was holding himself back. More often than not, had the altus met Solas’ gaze, and almost recoiled at the dark warning burning inside. Like a beast laying dorment, but ready to strike at any moment. In the quiet of the night Dorian often began to wonder what would happen if the beast was unleashed, if the subtle warning turned into raw hunger. Solas was surprisingly tall for an elf, even if still smaller than Dorian, but strong nevertheless. What if their banter in the library took a sudden turn, if the tension Dorian sometimes felt between them, suddenly snapped?

_Dorian pictured the elf, climbing the stairs and stalking, like a hunting wolf into the altus’ corner. He would crowd Dorian against the shelfs, pulling at the collar of his shirt to force him down for a rough kiss._

One hand moved up to his mouth, a thumb pressing between his lips, immitating the forceful elven tongue he imagined. _Solas was not a man who would halfass things. The kiss would surely leave Dorian breathless and painfully aroused. Once he had his prey weakened, Solas would not give him time to recover. A thigh pressed between Dorian’s legs, he would attack his neck with sharp elven-teeth, pulling further on the collar to gain better access. He’d leave purple bruises to mark his territory, while Dorian’s hips rolled subconsiously against his leg in need of friction._

The thumb was replaced with the back of his hand, to muffle any noises Dorian made, as if he was truly in the library in the middle of the day. His other hand had reached downwards to palm himself subtly through his slacks. _Doing anything too obvious would be a risk neither was willing to take. But Dorian would soon feel slender fingers unbuckling his pants until Solas’ hand could reach inside and wrap around his cock. Would he jerk the Tevinter mage off, just like this, slender body pressed flush against his chest, leaving it to Dorian to muffle his own moans with both hands pressed to his mouth?_

A sigh escaped Dorian’s lips, as his own hand finally reached under the hem of his slacks, to tug gently on his erection. His mind moved on, the scenery changing and suddenly the mage pictured himself in the barns, late at night. He had always wondered what Blackwall did down there, when everybody went to sleep. Would he just climb the stairs to the hay loft, or would he stay sitting by the fire, doing whatever a warden did in the quiet of the night?

_In his mind, he found Blackwall there, sitting on a small stool and chipping away on a piece of wood. Dorian’s mind did not bother with a reason for the mage’s presence and, judging by the knowing look the warden gave him, he didn’t need any either. He simply gestured for Dorian to come closer, patting the floor besides him. Normally he would protest of course, not wanting to soil his clothes with the dirt in the barn. But in his dream he followed the non-verbal order obediently, sitting down gracefully on his knees besides the warrior. A strong, calloused hand found its way into Dorian’s immaculate hair, ruffling it up, tugging lightly to tilt his head backwards for a kiss. He imagined the full beard to be soft to the touch, tickling on his chin and his cheeks as a firm tongue took its time to explore the mage’s mouth. Dorian leaned against the hand on the back of his head - a solid resistance that gave him a sense of safety. The warden could hold him, would not drop him. Blackwall’s other hand brushed away the soft shirt Dorian was suddenly wearing, rubbing firmly over his chest and stomach._

Dorian could feel a rush of heat errupting on his skin, causing a thin sheen of sweat to form as he slowly moved from cozy comfortableness to pressing need. His dream changed accordingly.

_The hand in his hair pulled him gently up on his knees, broad shoulders inviting the mage to wrap his own arms around for support. Blackwall’s other hand moved downwards, pressing between the mage’s thighs and urging them further apart, so he could reach for Dorian’s scrotum._ Dorian’s hips bucked as his own hand closed around his balls, tried to replicate the firm grip, he imagined Blackwall had, rolling his testicles carefully between his fingers, pressing and tugging just enough to cause small sparks of pleasure to shoot up his cock. His mind shifted once more, drifting idly through various indecent thought, the mage occasionally had when looking at his companions.

_Suddenly he wasn’t kissing Blackwall anymore, but Cullen, straddling the Commander in his office.The ex-templar had proven often enough during their chess games that he was a rather gentle soul. So Dorian imagined his hands to linger here and there on the mage’s naked skin - for naked he was, much unlike Cullen. A finger - already slicked - found its way between Dorian’s ass cheeks. In reality, he had to slick the finger with his own saliva first, before reaching down with his free hand. The finger circled the puckered ring, before gently pressing in. As careful as Cullen had mapped the mage’s skin, as was he when opening him up, twisting and turning his finger slowly until the second finger could press in without resistance. The other hand was wrapped around Dorian’s erection, pumping in  slow, teasing pace._

Dorian’s toes curled into the sheets, as he lifted his hips from the sheets to gain better access. The urge to cum was starting to dominate his mind and eventully he slipped his fingers out, so he could reach for the firm porcelaine dildo, he kept hidden under his pillow. He summoned some magic into his palm to warm it up, while his other hand felt for the vial of oil. Once the toy was properly slicked up, his mind went back to Cullen.

_As the toy was eased inside, he pictured himself slowly sitting down on Cullen’s own erection. The man’s brows creased in concentration, as he focused on not loosing it right then while he held onto Dorian’s buttocks to give him support. They moaned in unison when Cullen was filling the mage to the hilt. Bracing his hands on the Commander’s shoulders, Dorian began to roll his hips back and forth, revelling in the feeling of Cullen’s girth moving inside him. When the heat began to coil in his stomach, he began to ride the ex-templar with more vigor. Dorian did not picture Cullen as someone who took himself in hand very often, so the Cullen in his imagination came rather fast, filling Dorian with his warm seed._

Dorian’s own climax was close, but not yet close enough. So he rolled onto his stomach, face turned into the pillow, knees braced onto the sheets. His upper body was twisted almost painfully, as he reached behind to move the toy in and out with a reckless pace.

_His dream self found himself in a similar position, but with his arms bound firmly behind his back. The pillow between his teeth was replaced with a leather-gag and the dildo’s girth was imagined much bigger, as the Iron Bull thrust into the mage. Big hands holding onto Dorian’s hips with a bruising force, as they pulled him back against the qunari. He had once said to Dorian, he would conquer the mage, if he let him and that was what Dorian felt right now; Being conquered, dominated and claimed. But it was not a humiliating feeling. It felt good - safe. The qunari was not the savage beast Dorian’s fellow men back in Tevinter always talked about. He was a careful, calculating man. He did not push Dorian past his limits. The force with which he thrust into the mage was painful, but not so much that it was unpleasant. The pain mixed with the arousal and made his head swim with sensations._

Dorian could feel his climax coming, but something was still missing. So his other hand wrapped around his penis and tugged and pumped in the same pace, the toy was moved inside him.

_In his mind the hand were lips - soft red elven lips. Lavellan was lying underneath him, sucking him, taking him in deep with every thrust of the qunari._ The Inquisitor was truly a beautiful man: lean, taught muscles, a body built for dexterity and agility and a smile that shone in his pale eyes and crinkled the lines of his facial tattoo. Dorian had often thought of the ginger’s beauty, wondered if he was just as freckled everywhere, as he was in his face. _In his dream he was, and his pubic hair was as red as the long strands falling into his face. He was not blowing Dorian anymore, but lying face to face under him, long legs spread around the mage, as he was pushed inside again and again by the sheer force of Bull’s hips. Slender fingers with short nails dug into Dorian’s shoulders, as strong archer’s arms held him up between the elf and the qunari._

The image was the final push Dorian had needed and with a muffled whimper he came hotly over his hand and onto the sheets. His shaking legs held him up just long enough until he had spent himself completedly. With a contended sigh he fell to the side, careful not to drop the blanket onto the soiled sheets. He would have to change them before he went to sleep. But for the moment he was still enjoying the pleasant tingle of his afterglow, the feeling of fullness while the dildo was still sheathed between his buttocks. Once the sweat on his skin began to cool down, he would get up, wash himself at the small basin in his room and change the sheets. Tomorrow would be another exhausting day in service of the Inquisition, but this moment he had just for himself.


End file.
